


bravado

by mizzymouse



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Binge Drinking, Blood, Bruises, F/M, Fights, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-AMoL, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzymouse/pseuds/mizzymouse
Summary: There were a few moments where fear burned through bravado like the summer sun through morning fog.Going on a bender probably isn't among Mat's best decisions.





	1. to remember

Everything hurt. 

Perhaps not _everything_ , but close enough. Enough that it didn't matter. 

There was brightness, shining through his eyelids. That hurt. But that wasn’t just it. Brightness meant something. The sun. It had to be daytime, if it was bright like this. That was odd. Last he remembered, it had been dark. 

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he shielded his face with an arm and blinked away the afterimage of glaring sunlight. Tall buildings of rough white-washed wood surrounded him. As far as he could tell from the shadows, it was late morning. The oppressive heat was already beginning to set in. He was somewhere in the Rahad, in an alley, surrounded by run-down tenements and refuse and broken mugs that once contained ale. 

This was not a place Mat Cauthon expected to be. Not that he was surprised to be there, not really, but surprise and expectation are different things entirely. 

The world turned as he struggled to stand, almost stumbling into the wall across the alley, and even when he righted himself it took a moment for everything around him to settle back into its proper place. His head throbbed. Bruises probably covered a significant portion of his body, under all his rumpled clothing. That fact seemed certain. He couldn’t remember why, but it did, and it explained the abundance of pain. The inside of his mouth tasted like old ale and old blood. His hat was gone, but he couldn’t remember if he had brought it in the first place. The _ashandarei_ , too, was missing, but that wasn’t a shock. It seemed a certainty that he had not brought the raven-marked weapon. 

Stumbling out of the alleyway, he formed a plan. He needed to get back to the Tarasin Palace without Tuon realizing he had been gone for… how long had he been gone? Perhaps the first part of the plan would be to remember what happened. Getting back towards the palace was an exercise in muscle memory. He limped through the Rahad and towards the river, planning on boarding a ferry across the river to the western side of Ebou Dar. And while he walked, he replayed what he could remember of the last however-long-it-had-been. 

Something had happened at the palace. Whatever it was didn’t matter, what mattered was that Mat had decided to spend the evening drinking and gambling. In the Rahad, of course. It was safer. People were less likely to recognize him, were more free with their coin, sold cheaper and stronger drink. They were more quick with their fists, too, when his luck ran as well as it used to, but buying a round of drinks would often quell any animosity. So he had hopped onto the first ferry he could find, hiding among the crowd, and entered the first full tavern he came across. 

A single gold coin bought him enough brandy to dull his senses, a round for his new gambling companions, and enough luck to turn that single coin into a handful. Which were promptly exchanged for more drinks. 

Now his memory became foggy. The interiors of several taverns and common rooms flashed through his mind, each one left behind in search of another. Sometimes he fled hurriedly, someone much larger than him standing over him, demanding repayment for Mat’s “cheating” at dice. Repayment in the form of a swift punch to the jaw, if his addled recollection was right. Others ended less painfully, at least one serving girl sitting on his knee, sometimes two. At least one serving girl pulling him up a flight of stairs and into a narrow room, with him struggling not to spill the mug in his hand all the way there. 

His eye widened in surprise at that memory. Odd, that sort of thing being buried. Odd for him to do that sort of thing. Not that anything probably happened. His morals remained even under a flood of liquor. He began to realize just how drunk he had been. 

At some point, the cohesive memories ended. Only moments came through after that, like a candle being lit in a dark room and immediately being blown out, and they were more emotions than images. A rush as he noticed women eyeing him across a common room. Men, too, made the occasional suggestive glance. Mat had mixed feelings about those. Confusion mixed with the familiar flush of desire. Perhaps he would investigate that when he wasn’t drunk or hungover. The rattle of dice in a cup, the excitement of winning a risky toss, the burn of strong liquor as it slid down his throat. The tang of cheap ale. A cheer when he bough a round for the table, a round for everyone, a second round, a third. 

There were a few moments where fear burned through bravado like the summer sun through morning fog. And then one, the last one, where even the fear was dulled by a flash of pain. A lot of pain. There was a fight of some kind, and Mat was the target. The _why_ of the situation was lost to him completely. He put a palm to his side and winced. A lot of bruises, maybe a few broken ribs. 

He supposed that’s what he got for going on a bender.

Having reached the docks, he absentmindedly boarded one of the flat-bottomed ferries, handing a silver penny to the ferryman. Even with a prominent limp he was ignored. Old injuries were common among the Ebou Dari, especially after the Last Battle, and despite his Andoran coloring, he blended in well enough. Leaning on the railing at the front of the vessel, he watched the water flow by as the ferry crossed the river. It was early and the ferry was less than half full. He wasn’t bothered. 

Now that events were clear, or at least clearer, he had to figure out how to get back into the palace without arousing suspicion. The guards and servants would keep quiet. They never mentioned Mat’s comings and goings unless directly asked, and Tuon usually didn’t bother with interrogating everyone who might have come in contact with Mat. This wasn’t the first time he had done this. But he felt bad enough about himself, and was in enough pain, that he wanted to be spared the cold shoulder Tuon would undoubtedly give him. Last time, she had barely spoken to him for over a week, forcing him to sleep in the sitting room. A beating, a searing headache, and a few hours’ sleep on hard paving stones were enough punishment for drinking and gambling. And for whatever he had done to spur the outing, he was sure. 

Light, he was a mess. His life was a mess, and he was the one who made it that way. His eyes burned. It was the pain, he told himself, the fresh bruises and the hangover. 

The ferry made contact with the western bank with a muted _thump_. Mat was among the first onto the dock when the gate was lowered, and he made his way towards the palace with a little more speed than before. It certainly _wasn’t_ because he wanted to get to his own rooms, his own bed, a soothingly warm bath. Tuon, even though she would probably be angry with him. No, it wasn’t because he needed any comfort. It was the pain, and the heat. He just wanted to get out of the heat. 

By the time he reached the palace gates, he was almost running, as much as he could with the limp and the probably-broken ribs. And those were _not_ tears in his eyes. The guards let him pass without a glance, and none of the servants stopped him on his way up to the royal apartments. Outside those two massive wooden doors, the two unarmed guards shared what Mat thought was a knowing look before opening one of the doors for him. He didn’t care enough to shoot them one in return. 

Tuon was sitting in a plush armchair, sipping a cup of tea, and examining Mat’s _ashandarei_ when he burst in, stopping abruptly and wincing at the pain that caused. She look up, face expressionless, and Mat mentally prepared himself for whatever came next. As much as he could with the state he was in. 

“Matrim, what happened?”

“What does it look like? I bloody screwed up again is what happened. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m a bloody disappointment. But I paid for it. I’m in a Light-blinding amount of pain and I deserve every bit of it.” He scrubbed tears from his face with a grimy coat sleeve, staring mostly at his feet. There went all that preparation. “All I want right now is a hot bath and a few hours of actual sleep. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it later when my head stops pounding.” Turning further into the apartments, he refused to look back. Anything was better than whatever was behind Tuon’s eyes. 

A hand grabbed his arm as he made to walk away. He groaned, in annoyance and apprehension, and in pain. There was a sizable bruise there, and Tuon had a firm grip. She moved quickly and quietly despite the bulk of her Seanchan clothes. Mat hadn’t heard her get up from the chair. 

“We _will_ speak of this later.” Mat didn’t turn around, but he could imagine the hardness of her eyes. “Do not think I will forget. But,” she let out a breath, voice softening, and loosened her grip on his arm. “You are right. You’re in no state to have this discussion now. Go undress. I’ll have water heated for a bath.”

He relaxed, but not completely. Not out of danger yet, but better than he expected. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to be steady at a higher volume, and limped further into the apartments. 


	2. to understand

A few minutes later, Tuon was overseeing the handful of servants filling the enormous copper bathtub with heated water, cauldrons brought from a fire in another room. When they finished, she gestured for them to leave and crossed her arms under her breasts, turning towards Mat. He was glad for the privacy, or at least the lack of servants. Even among the Seanchan servants there was gossip, and the last thing he needed was for the entire Tarasin Palace knowing he not only spent a night away, but that he had come back covered in bruises. He shrugged out of his coat with some difficulty, letting it fall to the floor, pulled the silk scarf from around his neck, and kicked off his boots. Tuon rolled her eyes but smiled wanly when he made a pleading glance in her direction, shirt stuck halfway over his head. There was definitely something wrong with at least one of his ribs. Trying to raise his arms hurt too much for simple bruising. 

She pulled the shirt off him and added it to the pile. There were splotches of brown, dried blood on the silk and lace. Tuon’s hand hovered a few inches from his chest, and Mat looked down. Purple and blue and black bloomed across his tanned skin, all across his torso and hips and arms. His skin had split in several spots, which explained the blood, but none of the gashes were large. None of his ribs looked visibly crooked, or at least more crooked than normal, so he supposed that whatever had happened there was minor. He sucked in a breath. Pain hit him like a wall now that he was more aware of it, and he sat awkwardly on the lip of the bathtub while he pulled off the rest of his clothes. His legs, too, were all sorts of colors, but the bruises weren’t as dense as the ones on his chest. 

Climbing into the hot water was a slow process, but once he was submerged to his chest, Mat sighed in relief. Tuon took a cloth and a cake of soap from a nearby stool and, dipping the cloth in the water, wiped the dirt and dust from his face. There were a few smaller bruises on his jaw and cheekbones that alleyway grime had hid. 

Whatever he had done to provoke a fight, his opponent had hit hard. It probably hadn’t been much of a fight, given how drunk Mat had been. Reasons didn’t matter much at this point. Anyway, thinking about it made his head hurt more. Staying awake was hard enough with the warm water washing away some of his pains. 

Tuon arranged a pile of feather pillows to prop Mat up in the middle of their wide mattress. Hopefully he wouldn’t roll over and do something to his ribs. Getting into bed was painful, but once he was settled he was quite comfortable. Closing the shutters to dim the room, Tuon shot him a glance that was equal parts worry and evaluation. She hadn’t forgotten about that discussion they were to have later. But she left him alone all the same, and he was asleep before she closed the door to the bedchamber. 

Uncharacteristically, he didn’t dream. 

It was dusk when Mat awoke. The impulse to stretch made him groan in pain, and he sunk back into the pillows to wait for the throbbing to dissipate. His headache had receded. Tuon was there, he realized, perched on the edge of the mattress with a mug in hand. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Something for the bruising, but it should also help with the pain”

“Thanks, where did you..?” His voice was hoarse. He took the mug from her and sipped at it gratefully. It tasted medicinal under an absurd amount of honey. Tuon still didn’t fully understand the concept of sweetening tea. He drank it anyway. 

“Elmindreda. It seems she keeps a stock of herbs. For you, among others. She seemed… unfazed when I told her what you had been up to.”

He winced. Perhaps he had gone to Min a few times when he had gotten into tavern brawls in an attempt to hide his activities from Tuon. Perhaps he had asked her to get some of Nynaeve’s herbs for him. 

“Yes, I knew. No, there’s no reason for me to be angry at you about it.” She sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that today. “This is not what we need to speak about. How are you feeling?”

“Uh, better, I suppose. Bloody hangover is gone. Something’s definitely wrong with at least one of my ribs, but as long as I don’t move too much it doesn’t hurt badly.” He guessed they were going to be having that conversation now. She looked at him sternly, arms folded neatly in her lap. Definitely having that conversation now. 

“Matrim. What happened?” It was more of a statement than a question. Tuon always expected answers. 

“Nothing happened.”

“No, _something_ happened. Something happened for the third time in the last two months.”

“It’s nothing, Tuon, _really_. I’ve learned my lesson anyway. It won’t happen again, I swea-“

“It _will_ happen again, Mat. I know you well enough to see that for the lie it is.” She gave him a stern look both for his almost-promise and for having to cut him off to get to the point. “What I want to know is _why_ you continue to do this particularly self-destructive thing. Being angry with you doesn’t dissuade you. Nor does bodily harm, apparently. So I will try the next thing. Understanding.”

His cheeks reddened, and he felt a little embarrassed. 

“So please, explain it to me. Why do you continue to sneak away from the palace and go drinking and gambling? And getting into fights, apparently, but that seems a side effects of the brandy and dicing.” 

She sounded almost… pleading? Light, but he didn’t mean to hurt her. Beneath her regal exterior he knew she worried about him. He hadn’t realized how much. Now he felt more than a little embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry, Tuon, I really am. I… I didn’t mean for you to worry about me.” He coughed, trying to clear his throat, and it _hurt_. It took him a minute to steady his breathing to a point where he could speak. Maybe talking wasn’t the best idea. But she waited this long, and he might as well try to explain. 

“I guess it’s just…” Resisting the urge to clear his throat again, he tried to look her in the eye. ‘Tried’ being the operative word. “I miss it, you know? And I hate that I miss it.”

“Miss what?”

He downed the rest of the tea to buy himself some time to think. 

“What I was doing before all of this. Before I met you. Not that I’m not glad I met you, but… Before the Last Battle, before the Band, I was just Mat Cauthon. As much as I could be just a regular person, considering the company I was keeping.” The Dragon Reborn, Aes Sedai, Warders. “Not that it was a _good_ way to live, not that I didn’t end up in more bloody danger than I could handle. But I could… do what I wanted, you understand? For the most part. I spent a lot of time without people looking over my shoulders. And there was a lot of uncertainty, a lot of pain, in that. But I still miss it.”

He grinned at Tuon sheepishly. It was a little silly, when he laid everything out, but it was true. He really _did_ miss it. Even if it was painful. Maybe _because_ it was painful. Pain was a familiar and certain aspect of his life. She frowned slightly, considering what he had said. A few times, she opened her mouth to speak and closed it again as if not sure of what to say. Finally, haltingly, she found her question.

“I can understand the desire for independence, in a way. But… why this, specifically?

“It’s familiar. It makes me feel… important, but ordinary at the same time. I’m only special as long as I’m the one buying the next round. Nobody cares who I am or who I know. I’m not exempt from anything. Including a kick to the ribs.” His wry, breathy laugh turned into a whine, as if to prove his point. 

“But,” he managed, “You’re right, too. I’m a woolheaded fool. I can’t promise I won’t be a fool in the future. But I _won’t_ be doing this again.” He placed a hand lightly over his chest.

“And I cannot promise not to worry about you, or not to be angry if you come home too drunk to see straight.”

“I know,” he said. And then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“You should sleep,” she said, rising from the edge of the bed. “I will come back in a few hours to check on you and bring you more of that tea. If your chest still hurts like this in the morning, you might need Healing.”

He nodded in agreement and settled back into the pillows. Tuon pressed a soft kiss into his forehead and left. Sleep did not come as easily this time, but it came all the same. His dreams were vague images of celebration and the comfort of good friends. A battle won. An enemy thwarted. A day survived, with a hot meal and a warm bed at the end of it. 


End file.
